


Let Me Be Your Wall

by loindici (almaia)



Category: Political RPF, Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: Canada, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Make America Great Britain Again, Road Trips, community: lolitics_meme, this is 2016 in a nutshell, what have I done?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-10
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-07 15:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8806552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaia/pseuds/loindici
Summary: Boris notices that the criticism against Donald has started to get to him.(started off as a parody of MisleadGoddess' "Let Me Be Your Umbrella")





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Let Me Be Your Umbrella](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8329597) by [FromAshesToStardust](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FromAshesToStardust/pseuds/FromAshesToStardust). 



The Sun's light beamed through the curtains, stippling onto Rihanna, Prince Harry and Leonardo DiCaprio's naked bodies. They were ever so beautifully entwined with each other in the sheets. They were the direct definition of true love.

The sunlight marched through Rihanna's wrinkled eyes. She couldn't help but wonder where her time had gone. One day, she was a school girl, the next she was in a polyamorous relationship and had witnessed Trump becoming President.

“Speaking of which” Rihanna thought “Where the hell _is_  my Canadian visa?”. She knew she'd gone off to the Canadian Embassy and that Drake got himself a girlfriend who looked as young as him but was considerably (*cough* 11 years *splutter ***** ) younger than him. Rihanna badly hoped that _she_ wasn't the reason he hadn't called in 3 months. A very long 3 months they were indeed.

Rihanna rolled over and decided to phone Drake to ask her to check up on her Canadian visa application. Rihanna hoped to hell that Drake:

 

1\. hadn't changed his number 

or

2\. wouldn't use her Canadian visa application to blackmail her.

 

“Don't be silly” Rihanna's subconscious told her “Drake's a man of morals and principle. He wouldn't dream of doing such a thing!”. Rihanna picked up the phone, narrowly avoiding elbowing Prince Harry, and dialled her ex's number from her phonebook.

“You used to call me on my cellphone, late night when you need my love.” a tired, Canadian voice sung down the line

“Drake. Sorry to disturb you but can you check on the status of my Canadian visa application? It's just I'm worried sick about it and Trump's taking office in a week and-”

“It's fine, Rihanna” Drake assured her “I'll hunt that visa down and bring it to you”

“Thank you”

“My pleasure”.

* * *

“What _**the fuck**_ did you just say to me, **bitch**?” he demanded, tightening his clammy fists. Sweat raced down his forehead as he began to turn a bright shade of red; you could almost hear the imaginary kettle whistle screeching from his ears!

Mike Pence took a few steps back, mildly intimidated and close to tears.

“N-n-nothing” he stammered, furiously shaking his head, dislodging a few tears from her eye sockets “I promise. I said nothing”. Mike found herself against the wall. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. His palms were face down.

“D-Donald...please...”

“Why can't you take no for an answer, _**little girl**_?” Donald spat, furiously twitching “Eh?”. Frustrated, he forcefully slammed his fragile body against the wall, the only support being his hand which was firmly gripped around his throat.

“WELL?” he repeated, much louder this time “WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY FOR YOURSELF?”. The silence reigned supreme. Aggrieved, he hurled Mike against the solid oak floor. Donald then immediately crouched over him, a sadistic grin lining his face, and tugged his hair like a broken dolly. Tears streaked down his face, blending with his smothered makeup.

“There's no place to run now, _ **little girl**_ ”

“N-n-no...”

* * *

Drake sifted through the shelves of books in the book shop. The Toronto book festival was always a great time to find superb book recommendations, _especially_ in the crime genre – and his basket was filling up. In his peripheral vision, Drake could see solitude man, gazing at the romance genre with beady eyes. At a second glance, he recognised the man to be Mike Pence and decided to approach him.

“Are you okay?” he whispered, placing her arm around the American Vice President's lower back. He nodded solemnly, refusing to speak. His concealer was applied heavily, especially on her left cheek and eye. India grew increasingly suspicious over the welfare of his ex's Vice President.

He shifted his gaze to the fine selection of books in that genre, his hand still near Mike's pocket. Carefully, he pulled out his phone which caught his eye and read the text messages whilst Mike pulled himself in closer to the crowd, resting his disoriented head on a random bloke's shoulder. He'd been beaten to a pulp. Drake promptly put Justin Trudeau's autobiography called "Common Ground" in Mike's overflowing basket, offering to purchase it for him. Mike tried to politely decline, but Drake insisted.

“Are you sure you're okay? You certainly don't look it”

“I'm fine” Mike sighed “just a bad day”

“Is that why you're drowning in concealer?”. Mike's eyes widened and a single tear came racing down his cheek. Mike put down his basket and brought Drake closer to him, running his bony fingers through his coarse hair.

“Can I have your number?” asked Drake, gently placing a kiss on his forehead “Just so I can check up on you. I just want to make sure you're okay”. Mike politely obeyed. He scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it over.

“Come on” said Drake, reassuringly massaging Mike's hands “I'm here for you”.

And as Mike looked away to the distance, Drake thought to himself, "Sucker! I don't actually need your number. I've got your phone now!" 

* * *

Drake handed Mike his book as they both left the shop.

“Thank you” he sniffled “It means a lot”

“I bet it does” he beamed as she ruffled Mike's hair “Now tell me, what's going on?”. He sighed.

“My boyfriend, Donald, he got a bit...angry at me this morning”

“Donald?” questioned Drake “Why  _ **the hell**_ didn't you tell me that you two were dating?”. The prescience in Drake's eyes was an unstoppable force. It grew larger than life itself. He knew that name and he hated it. He couldn't bear to have to face _another_ tragedy in the United States at the hands of Trump. Mike wiped away the puddle of tears welling in her eyes as Drake ushered them both over to a nearby bench. He put the books at his feet and brought Mike closer to his chest.

“Oh Mikey...” he sighed “Can I call you that?”. Mike nodded.

“You need to tell me what's going on so that we can put an end to it”

“It was just one time, Drake” he sobbed “Just once...not again”

“Mikey” said Drake, placing his hands on the side of her face “People like this never stop”

“But...”

“No. No ifs. No buts...” Drake sighed, dark memories pooling into her sub-conscience “Look, I'm not letting you go home to him if he's just gonnae hit you”

“No he's not” he affirmed, rapidly shaking his head “he's not like that”

“Heh...” chuckled Drake “Denial, the first stage of grief”

“NO!” he cried, deeply frustrated. Mike pushed herself out of Drake loving embrace and ran off to the Canadian-US border.

* * *

Drake intently followed him, hellbent on not giving in. The truth is, Drake didn't really care about Mike, whether he liked it or not. He hesitated to call the Prime Minister of Canada in fear that he'd just make it worse. He didn't want to call the Royal Mounted Canadian Police in fear that Mike would hold a grudge against Canada. Drake didn't particularly want to take justice into her own hands, but sometimes, he just wanted to watch the world burn.

To Drake, Mike looked awful in the distance. The way his silver hair sparkles made his heart sink in his chest for the Americans. The way his dynamic eyes swirled and glowed even pure daylight made his mind wander and dream of the doom that is to come for the Americans. The way he swaggered down the pavement, his straight yet huge hips moving side to side, made him want to push him into the Niagara Falls. His desire. Right now, all Drake wanted was _revenge._

* * *

Mike stumbled into the Trump Towers to find Donald kneeling on the floor, begging for his forgiveness. Mike couldn't decline; he wanted an apology as badly as the next person. Mike leaned against the wall as the strong man he had grown to know was cowering at his feet. His heart stung and yearned to be taken away from his clutches, but it was all too late. His sensitive mind had burned all traces of the red flags, and now, to Mike, everything was back to normal.

“I'm sorry, love” he sobbed and whined, powerless to say the least “I missed you, baby”

“...missed you too” he whimpered, lying through her teeth. Donald curled up against her, his sobs slowing.

“Where did you go?” he inquired, prying a book out of her hands and reading the title “and who with?”

“The book festival” he sniffed “by myself”

“Come on, Mikey. I've known you a while now. We both know that you're lying”

“No, I'm not” Mike assured him.

“I don't believe that for a second”. There was a pause for a moment, as Mike gave in.

“....I love you”

“You _love_ me?” he snickered, his paranoia aggravating him “ _ **Love**_ **me?** ”

“Yes”

“No. If you loved me you would've stayed here at home, by my side! Not wander off with some random bloke. And by the way, who was this random bloke? By the smells of it he was rather an immigrant, don't you think?”

“It wasn't an immigrant, Donald”

“It wasn't? Are you trying to tell me you're a fucking a Canadian?”

“DONALD!”

“MIKE!”

“WE DID NOT SHAG EACH OTHER! HE WAS COMFORTING ME!”

“ **SO YOU TOLD HIM? EH?** ”

“ **YES. YES I FUCKING DID. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?** ” Mike yelled, tears streaming down his face. In that pause, Mike instantly felt deep regret. Her stomach sank as Donald's fury radiated. He was going to hit him again.

“ **This is the last straw, bitch** ”. And so he snapped. Donald vigorously smacked the side of Mike's face with his fist. And again. And again. And again. Mike cowered in pain, but there was no time for a break.

Donald trailed his fragile body across the floor, punching the other side of his face again as he began to scream in absolute pain. Mike latched his legs to the door frame in a desperate attempt to break free, but it was no use. Michael Richard Pence was surely going to die.

Donald threw Mike at the wall, aiming him so that he'd fall helplessly onto their King Sized Trump Brand mattress. He fiercely ripped off his top and unbuckled his belt and threw it at Mike, causing him to quiver in agony. Fearfully, Mike sprinted for the door but was stopped and pinned down again by Donald. Ignoring his nightmarish screams, he violently ripped off his spotty black shirt and lobbed it at the ground. Without hesitation he heaved off his boxers, pushed his white briefs to one side and-

BANG. An NYPD officer hit him over the back of the head with the force of a thousand neutron stars. He fell to the ground in a daze, his naked body once brimming with adrenaline, now weak and almost lifeless on the floor.

“Don't you dare come near him again, Trump. Or you'll have _me_ to deal with”. Waking from his daze, Donald snickered.

“You stupid Democrat. You don't even know what you've done”. Donald tried to tackle the NYPD officer, who turned out to be David Miliband to the floor but instead he calmly whipped out a taser and pressed it on his hip whilst pinning him to the carpet with his steel toe boots. Donald screamed in intense pain.

“Who's the stupid Democrat now?” mocked David, arrogantly smirking. Humiliated, Donald scrambled to get his clothes and made a dash for the door. Meanwhile, David picked up Mike's ripped shirt from the carpet and inspected it.

“Bother”. He threw it to the ground and popped 'round the side of the door to reach for something in his bag. David came back in with a Hot Topic bag and a red, tartan boxers and a matching pair of briefs.

“Here” he offered, smiling “I thought I'd get something to treat you”. Overwhelmed but desperate to get his clothes back on, Mike reached for the boxers and briefs and scrambled to get them on. They fitted perfectly. David officer lifted an eyebrow.

“Where did you get these?” inquired Mike, oddly satisfied by their perfect fit.

“Someone gifted me them. They're my old ones...” he trailed off, biting his lip, slightly flustered. Mike giggled.

“That's okay”.

David handed him the Hot Topic bag, and Mike pulled out a navy leather suit. He slipped into it perfectly and stood up to glance at himself in the mirror.

“Perfect...” David whispered in his head, or at least, he thought he did. Mike's cheeks turned pink, thrilled by the realisation that David really did like him. Like, _really_ liked him. Mike always wanted to explore his sexuality with a man other than Trump, but was never given the chance to.

David gently wrapped her arms around Mike's waist and kissed his cheek.

“You are...breath-taking” he muttered in his ear. They both giggled.

“Hey, don't tell anyone about this okay? I just don't want the Republican Party to find out I'm trying to hit on you”. Mike turned to return the kiss.

“It's okay, Mr. Miliband” he giggled “The secret's safe with me”

“Good” David replied “Now, do you want to go out? Only, it wouldn't be a very nice thing for me to keep you here, in the place where you've been abused god knows how many times”

“Thank you....”

* * *

Donald was seething with rage and pain. He sprinted to a public bathroom, his clothes only half on, and dramatically tried to irrigate his eyes. They burned like a motherfucker. Still in deep anguish, Donald buckled his belt and dashed to the nearest office, which turned out to be the Democratic Party headquarters. He slammed open the door and then immediately bolted for the staff door. He was on the hunt for Crooked Hillary. And there she was, alone in her office looking at graphs and spreadsheets. Donald smashed his way in, denting the wall as the door crashed open, and threw himself at Hillary's desk. Donald began brutally beating BIll Clinton (who rushed immediately to shield his wife) and kicking him over and over again. Blood poured from his shattered skull, but there was no going back now.

“ **I BET IT WAS YOU WHO HE SLEPT WITH, WASN'T IT?** ”

“I don't know what you're talking abou-”. Donald slammed his fist into Bill's face again, causing him to spit rivers of blood all over the carpet.

“ **MIKE** **SLEPT WITH YOU, DIDN'T HE?** ”

“No, he didn't”

“ **YOU'RE FIRED!** ” he exclaimed at Hillary, then turning to Bill and crushing his head with his steel, toe-capped boots “ **HOW DARE YOU!** ”

“OKAY! OKAY!” Bill screeched, his face heavily contorted and disfigured “Hillary will resign as Democratic Party leader”

“...and you'll stop sleeping with Mike, won't you?”

“I've never had sexual relations with Mi-”

“You liar” spat Donald“This isn't over”. Donald marched out of the office, his shirt splattered with blood stains. He had finally got his revenge.

* * *

That evening, Mike and Officer David Miliband headed down Macy's. Together, they ventured into every shop they possibly could on one of Officer Miliband's extravagant shopping sprees. Hot Topic, Victoria's Secret, Nike, Starbucks, you name it!

“Oh my gosh, Mike” David sighed, pinning him up against the wall of the Victoria's Secret changing room, pecking at his desirous lips “You are so beautiful”. The duo giggled in between breaths as they passionately kissed, running their hands down and all over each other's bodies.

“Save it for later, honey” Mike exhaled, breath-taken. David whined and began sucking at his neck in an attempt to leave a love bite. They craved for each other dearly, but Mike had cunningly decided to wait so he could watch their sexual tension grow. Mike was curious about how David's ever-growing desire could change his behaviour, and build up to something more spectacular.

The duo eventually settled down to dinner at an Italian restaurant. All night they fed each other pizza, pasta and desserts – heck, they even re-enacted that Lady and the Tramp scene! At the end of the dinner, David received a phone call from her boss.

“I'll just take this in the loos, sweetheart”

“Of course, hen” replied Mike, planting a kiss on his hand as she hurried off. David sauntered into the bathroom and took the call.

“Hello?”

“David” a voice on the other end softly spoke. There was a lot of background noise and it sounded like there was a heart monitor in the background.

“Bill?”

“I'm sorry, but you can't work for Hillary anymore. The words hit David likes a brick. A large, heavy brick thrown right at his chest.

“W-what?”

“I'm sorry. It's not you at all. You are a great employee, you really are. It's just...you're not safe here. Trump's going to deport you back to the UK as soon as he swears in as President.”

“Him?”

“Yes, The Donald. He's violent. He's hospitalised me”

“HE'S WHAT?!”

“No, no, David. I'm okay. I promise you. Just get out of there...now!”. Bill hung up, and David was left devastated.

Eventually, he returned to the table. Mike handed the bill to the waiter and was just getting up to see what the commotion was about. David instantly fell into his arms.

“What's wrong, sweet pea?”

“Just been fired” he sobbed “Donald beat my boss up”

“Oh my god”. David was stunned. Never before in his life had he met someone as violent as Donald.

The couple cuddled there for a few minutes in the silence, and then Mike began to speak.

“Come on” Mike said, wiping tears from his eyes and straightening his posture “don't we have a hotel room to go to?”

“Och aye! Of course!”.

They grabbed their bags from the seats and swiftly headed out of the restaurant and carried on down Wall Street, into Madison Square. David chuckled to herself.

“10 months ago I lived in there” Mike told her, tearfully nodding to the Trump Tower “I was Donald's concubine”. David cried.

“You were an awful running mate” said he “So awful that Hillary never stopped going on about you!”

“Oh?” he cried even more “Well I'm glad I was of service”. They turned left into the The Plaza, signed in, and headed for their room.

The couple dropped their bags and kicked off their shoes as soon as they got in. The black-out curtains were shut and the lights were on. The beautiful aroma of freshly cleaned blankets filled the air, alongside the peony air freshener which spiralled the atmosphere. The room was beautiful.

David once again wrapped her arms around Mike's waist and smirked.

“So” he whispered in her ear “does this count as later to you, princess?”

“Aye” Mike giggled, kissing David on the lips.

They turned around to face each other and began to snog. David pressed Mike up against the wall, deepening their embrace. Mike then wrapped her legs around David, as they made their way over to the bed.

David jovially threw Mike down on the satin sheets so they were now perpendicular on the bed itself. They playfully rolled around for a bit, lip-locked and fighting over superiority. Eventually, David managed to firmly pin him down and broke the kiss. They were both considerably out of breath and dying to get in each others knickers. David unbuttoned his top and slid off his jeans, leaving them spread across the floor. Mike sat up and together, they pulled off the leather suit to reveal his tartan underwear. David amorously began to kiss Mike's chest, scratching his back as he did so. His abs weren't small enough to say that he was lanky, but they weren't big enough to cause girls to orgasm whilst doing exercise. Mike playfully scratched David's too.

“Oh” she gasped “you dirty lad”. They both chuckled as David pushed him once down again.

“So, you think you can dominate me, huh?” David taunted, beginning to nibble at his soft, lustrous lips. David then passionately began to suck at each nipple as Mike wrapped his legs around his. David eventually broke free and positioned Mike 'the right way' on the bed, resting his head on a stack of soft pillows. He began to suck at his underwear, which were now soaking with Mike's juices. And then, with her teeth, he teasingly trailed his boxers down his legs, past his ankles, and hung them around the bedpost alongside his leather suit.

“Mmm” David moaned, biting his lip as she glanced down, in between Mike's open thighs “You're gonnae call me Prime Minister from noo oan, okay hen?”

“Okay” agreed Mike submissively, positioning himself against the headboard.

“Good lad...”. David smirked. He wanted Trump's whore so badly. He desirously sucked at his fingers, spreading open Mike's asshole and beginning to take his time to push his finger in and out passionately. Mike held on to his cock, inviting David (or 'Prime Minister' as he now wants to be called) to play. The Prime Minister locked his arms around baby boy's hips and began to play.

Mike instantly began to writhe and moan.

“God, you're so sensitive” David remarked “such a pretty virgin”. His tongue circled his pulsating dick, responding to Mike's every moment. Although he was squirming like a baby, David kept her patience with his blue eyed beauty.

“Oh...” Mike trembled “Prime M-m-ministeeer!”

“Good lad” David muttered, his warm breath purposely stimulating him. Prime Minister wettened at the sound of his heavy moans; his ego was being given a deep tissue massage.

“I'll show Ed who's really boss” David thought to himself, still seeking revenge on his brother.

He reached to the side of the bed and rummaged his hand through his bag. He pulled out a can of lubricant and plastered it generously all over his dick, inserting it into Mike's tight asshole.

“OH!” he cried, extremely loudly, pushing himself up further against the headboard. But David pulled him back down and continued to satisfy him.

Mike lasted for hours, and honestly, David wasn't complaining. He was have the time of her life observing Trump's whore writhe and moan at his every move. He had fallen so hard for Mike for all the wrong reasons. Finally, after 3 hours of fucking him, Mike threw his head back and orgasmed so greatly, David's jaw hit the floor. He'd never been able to pleasure a man this hard in his entire life. He had never been so proud of his fucking abilities.

* * *

 

Melania curled up against Donald, who, after 10 whole god damn minutes of orgasm, had just finished panting.

“Oh my goodness...” Melania sighed, exhausted “...words can't describe how exhilarating that was”

“I bet” giggled Donald, who began to slowly hump the side of Melania's leg “ohh...”. Melania giggled and reached for the lube, smothering her left thigh in the stuff.

“Hop on, Donald” she whispered seductively in his ear. Donald obeyed, desperate to straddle her thigh. Melania wrapped her arms around his waist and assisted Donald in humping her. The Donald clung desperately to his supermodel wife, softly kissing her neck as she left scratches down his back.

“Uuuhh...” moaned Donald as he sped up. The pleasure was quickly becoming overwhelming. No. Unbearable. Melania began to pleasure herself so hard that she couldn't even take it any more and began to sob.

“Don't worry, Donald” breathed Melania, who was currently doing all the work “I'll finish you off”. And so Melania moved a star-struck Trump's hips against her thigh, harder and harder. Faster and faster. Meanwhile, Donald began to rub Melania's clitoris, desperate to hear her groan once more. And she did. Together, they were an unstoppable force. 

* * *

“Good morning, Mr. President” said Melania as she wrapped her arms around his waist and planting a kiss on Donald's cheek “sleep well?”

“Definitely” he giggled “probably down to last night”. Melania tucked some strands of Donald's toupee behind his ear and placed his head against hers.

“It's about time I tell you the truth about yer family, eh?”. Donald looked up at her, slightly confused.

“What about them?”

“Yer brother isnae who yoo think he is” she told him “Yer Bro isnae Robert. Naw way in hell. Yer Bro is Boris Johnson, and I've been deeply concerned about you your entire life”


	2. Let Me Be Your Bae

**Day 1580**

 

**13th January 2017**

 

**Preparation for Inauguration**

 

So, for the last few days Donald, Melania and I have been getting out our White House decorations and decking out the place with tinsel and American flags. They look amazing! Breath-taking, in fact!

 

“ _Not as amazing as Canada” Drake whispered under his breath whilst scrolling down to carry on reading Mike Pence's notes from his phone which he stole._

 

We put up the yuuuuge American Flag this afternoon - something that Bernie Sanders would never able to do without squabbling!

Donald and Melania are like perfect for each other (they are my OTP) and they literally never fight unlike Hillary and Bill Clinton. They'd always fight over silly things, like burning the caramel sauce or, if a nice looking chick winks at him, Hillary would death stare and harshly ridicule her, almost like she was abusing her. Bill never was though. He was loving and kind, not like Donald and Melania, though. They are the perfect couple.

 

_Drake giggled as he cheeks turned a pale shade of red. He cannot believe he just got to read Mike Pence's diary._

 

Moving to the White House is such a bliss. With the crackle of the fire, the smell of indulgent hot chocolates and the warmth of my new bosses as we snuggle together in blankets as we watch The Apprentice. I have never felt love this warm before.

Earlier, before I 'went to sleep' (what a rebel I am), Donald swept my hair to one side and laid a kiss on my forehead (as he usually does) and told me that he's meeting Boris Johnson tomorrow morning for one of their little diplomatic catch-ups. I asked him what they'd be discussing but he said that it was “confidential” and that “it's in the American people's best interests that I don't know”. I'm really starting to get concerned that Donald is going to say or do something to the British Foreign Secretary and get himself in to trouble. That's the last thing I want to happen!

Anyway, I've got to turn to light off before Donald brings the coffee up to Melania. Speak soon!

* * *

Drake shut the iPhone7 and snuck it back under his pillow. He was overjoyed that he potentially has blackmail material against Mike Pence (and boy, he's going to sell it to the Toronto Sun and all those other Canadian tabloids and heck, he might get the Order of Canada from Justin Trudeau!) 

He much enjoyed reading Mike Pence's diary in his phone. He was embarrassing, narcissistic and just plain awful, just like how he envisioned the perfect apocalypse to be. Fortunately, Drake wasn't technically _a Canadian Politician_  - something that made Drake felt like he was on Cloud 9. If he could turn back the clocks, Drake would've exposed Mike to the press and would have become the President of the United States himself - but you can't change time itself! You can only influence the future, and that's what he was going to do.

Swiftly, Drake made his way out of his bedroom and down to the front door where he wrapped her black coat around his curves, slipped into a pair of bright red, metal toe boots, and grabbed his bag. His poked her head through the door frame.

“I'm going now, sweethearts!” he yelled, invoking India Love to come rushing out of the kitchen in her apron and attack him with hugs and kisses. Drake loved her to pieces.

“You stay safe now” said Drake, kissing her on the lips.

“Will do, hen” she replied, returning the gesture. As India rushed off the check on the cake, Drake pulled his dog, Harper in a wee bit closer.

“Hey, you know I love you and your mother, right?”

The dog barked

“Well, look after her, okay? I might be gone for a while”

The dog barked again

“Well, you know your mother. She hates seeing me get into trouble and she's worried sick about you but...” Drake frustratedly ran a hand through the dog's fur “...I don't ever want to give you up”

The dog snuggled on his leg

“Good” he sighed, relieved “good”. Drake got on his knees and hugged the dog.

“You be a good boy for your mother, okay?”

The dog licked him on the cheek

“Good girl...”. Drake hugged Harper once more. He then stood up and made his way for the door.

“Bye!”

“Bye!” returned India.

India knew that from now on that she'd be worried sick about her beau. Rihanna's ex, that is. Now her boyfriend, actually. There was a great sadness in her eyes, almost like she knew what was going to happen next. Drake knew something India didn't, and it was only a matter of time before that secret...is revealed.

* * *

“Harry!” Rihanna exclaimed, slapping the hand on her thigh down “I'm not going to run off with him! Stop being so self conscious for God's sake!”

“I'm sorry, it's just...” Prince Harry muttered “I have a bad feeling”

“Drake's hardly going to blackmail me with my own Canadian visa application, now, is he?”

“But he promised to petition you up there 4 months a go, Rihanna!”

“Drake's still a citizen of Canada, Harry! He has a tonne of work to do! He'll be back down here before you know it”

“Fine” he sulked “but if anything happens in there, you'll be the first to tell me. Not Leonardo this time.”

“Of course, darling” she confirmed, leaving a kiss on his forehead “speak soon”

“Love you!”

“I love you too!”. And she slammed the door in his face.

* * *

Rihanna and Drake met outside a hotel in the outskirts of the US-Canadian Border. Even though neither had feelings with each other, they still had very close ties with a bunch of celebrities and they decided to make it a tradition to spend a day or so to themselves once or twice a year, gossiping about the latest hits and their personal lives. But today was very different...

The duo hugged endearingly at the entrance as they met.

“It's been a while”

“It has!” Rihanna beamed “Where have you been, all my life?”, she sang

“I was just in Canada” he lied, desperate not to raise suspicions about his involvement with exposing Mike Pence “You?”

“Relatively the same, you know. Drinking coffee, thinking about moving to Canada and shagging my partners. The normal stuff!”. The duo laughed. Ironically, that's what Drake had been doing too (well, minus the moving to Canada part because technically, he does live in Canada).

“Well, shall we go inside?” he asked, directing her hand towards the entrance.

“Of course, darling”

* * *

Drake and Rihanna lobbed their belongings on the floor and playfully flung each other on the bed. They laughed and joked around for a good 30 minutes before they were actually able to seriously discuss things!

Rihanna sat him up against the headboard - something he hadn't done to Drake in 23 weeks! She jokingly kissed him on the lips as she sat down to join him.

“Oh” chuckled Drake “is this where we're taking this?”

“Well I did book a double for a reason”

“I have a fiancée, Rihanna!” she grinned, trying to keep the conversation light-hearted.

“Well I have a husband _and_ a boyfriend, Drake. Do you really think I care?”. Rihanna crawled beside Drake and began affectionately laying kisses down his body.

“Rihanna...” she firmly muttered “I-”

“I love you too, darling. Now lie down and-”

“No. Rihanna, wait. Look, I can't do this! I love India and-”

“I love you too” she repeated, pulling his reluctant body closer to hers.

“Rihanna”

“Shall we leave it for later?”. Drake sighed, frustrated that she wasn't getting to message.

“Fine”

* * *

Boris and Donald stumbled back into the hotel room, intoxicated and lively from the bar they just came back from. Donald took no time in pinning Boris up against the wall and passionately snogging him, but Boris held back.

“Donald...please” he bargained “not now”

“Isn't this later enough for you?”. There was silence. Boris' eyes widened, realising what Donald had been hinting at this whole time.

“Tell me, Johnson” Trump elaborated “Why do you think it's okay to shag Melania, and not me?”

“What the hell-”

“Hush now, Mop Head” he scorned, silencing him with his right index finger “For far too long now you've been taking advantage of our country's strong relationship and then complaining about it behind its back”

“Stop it with the metaphors, Donald” he instructed, pushing his finger aside “You tell me right now how _why the hell_ you think we're fucking!”

“She says that you're my brother.”

“YOO WERE WHAT?” she yelled, exasperated “HOW ON EARTH DID YOU EVEN THINK OF THAT?”

“ **WITH THIS DNA TEST RESULT SHE GAVE ME** **!** ”. There was a long, destructive pause as the couple got to grips with what they had both done.

“What?”

“Look, I didn't trust to negotiate with you instead of negotiating with that Lizard-Faced Nigel Farage. I knew you were going to take advantage of your alleged status as my brother. I have known better than to negotiate with you.”

“Excuse me” she snarled “How _**dare**_ you talk about me like that”

“How dare _you_ shag my wife, **_pretender!_** ”

“So we're gonnae play _that_ game, are we?” he breathed, cracking his knuckles “I'll have you know that I've been a dominant all my life, Donald”

“So have I”

“But aim British. An' I can dae et better 'han yoo”

“Go on. Try me, wee hands”.

* * *

Boris hauled Donald over his lap and pulled his pants down to his ankles to reveal his signature Trump Brand Underwear. Boris snickered.

“Where did you get these from, the charity shop?”

“They are designer, Johnson”

“My arse could do a better job”

“You don't have an arse”

“Exactly” Boris affirmed “but you do”. And so, with all the might that his tough hands could deliver, Boris skelped Donald's arse, causing him to let out a long, passionate moan.

“Does that feel good, Trump?” Boris taunted “What about this?”. He brought his hand down harder this time, leaving tears welling in Donald's eyes.

“Is this...what you do...to Melania?” he struggled, sniffing back the tears.

“No, because she's a good girl, unlike some”. Boris spanked him again, catching Donald off guard who, unlike normal people, was a bit of a masochist. And when I say a bit, I'm lying. I mean a lot.

Boris rubbed his hand over Donald's embarrassing underwear, and began teasing his throbbing erection.

“Please..” Donald begged “fuck me”

“No” asserted Boris, much to his surprise “because unlike you, I have morals and ethics”

“Is that what you said to Michael Gove before the Conservative Leadership election killed his career?”

“LEAVE MICHAEL OUT OF THIS!” Boris boomed, echoing through the silent halls “Donald I am naw shagging yoo”

“Then give me back my wife” spat he.

“I cannae give your wife back”

“What do you mean 'you can't'?”

“She doesn't even know me”

“Don't lie to me, Johnson” he snickered “I know what you're playing at”

“Dae ya?” he teased “Then you'll know that I'm not going to shag you”. But Donald was having none of it. Like an animal, he grasped onto Boris' pants and began to snog him harder than he ever had before.

“What would your wife think of this, Donald?” he snorted.

“She doesn't have to know”

“What if I told you that someone is watching us”

“Yeah? What kind of plot twist are you going to unveil now? That Melania's in the fucking wardrobe?”

“Donald, for Christ's sake” Melania remarked as she barged into the hotel room where Boris and Donald were  “would you keep it down! The First Lady of the United States is trying to get her beauty sleep here!”.

But little did they know, Drake was in the closet, producing more blackmail material in order to discredit the Trump Administration in the name of Canada. After all, he had to make a convincing case that the West and East Coasts (except for Florida because they're rednecks) must join Canada and become its new province.


	3. And Here We Observe, The Republicans (and one Democrat)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Drake continues his quest of discrediting the Trump Administration for Canada, his home and native land.
> 
> (Alright, this one is a parody of "And Here We Observe, The Common Politician" by Cleggymeiser)

Drake's Really Educational Nature Documentary:

 

 

_Scene 1: Drake and Rihanna's Hotel room._

_(Drake is in front of the camera)_

_Drake:_ Hello fellow nature enthusiasts! Today we're going to delve into a strange and mysterious environment, filled with all sorts of peculiar beings. We're going to take a look in... the Hotel Room next to mine.

 

_Scene 2: Donald and Boris's Hotel Room._

_(Donald and Boris are cuddled up together on Donald's King Sized bed. They're both intently watching The Celebrity Apprentice)_

_Drake:_ And here we observe, the Johnson and the Trump partaking in their usual activity, let's observe their reactions to the popular reality TV show...

_Donald:_  I regret to inform you that...

_LaToya Jackson: (pauses for dramatic effect)_

_(Donald and Boris both tense up, cuddling each other tighter)_

_Donald:_ ... Ms. Jackson, YOU'RE FIRED!

_(They both cheer in unison)_

_Boris:_ How stupid! Doesn't she even notice that you're totally going to fire her?

_Donald:_ I know! And that was su- wait who's that? HOLY SHIT DRAKE ARE YOU-

 

_Scene 3: The lobby_

_(Marco Rubio, Ted Cruz and Melania are playing with the dogs in the lobby)_

_Drake:_ And here we observe, the Zodiac Killer, the Rubio and the Melania playing with a friendly species called the canis lupus familiaris.

_Marco: (tries to get a toy off the British Bulldog)_ Buster! If you want me to throw it then you have to let go!

_Melania:_ (gets knocked over into the mud by the Golden Retriever) Kaylie! Ah! (laughs hysterically as Kaylie joins her in the mud)

_Ted:_ (rubs Dachshund's belly) Hey Tilly! Who's a good girl, you're a good girl!

_(The Papillon jumps on him, getting his muddy paws all over his, what were, clean clothes)_

_Marco: (giggles)_ Alright, alright Foster, I'll tickle your belly too!

_Drake:_ Hmm, maybe we should move on...

 

_Scene 4: The bar (Nigel is sitting on the KIVICK loveseat with chaise, reading the Daily Mail)_

_Drake:_ And here we observe, the Donald's other concubine enjoying his favourite activity.

_Nigel:_ Pffft, bloody immigrants... _(sips his Twinings English Breakfast Tea)_

_Drake:_ Hmm, on second thought, let's leave, none of this is really new.

_Nigel:_ Hmm, who's that? _(turns around)_ Hey, Drake! Are you making a film? Can I be in it so I can scaremon-, I mean, raise awareness about immigration!?

_Drake:_ Ah! Quick! Let's get out of here!

_Nigel:_  Drake Please!-

 

_Scene 5: The hotel pool_

_(David Miliband is sitting at the STORNÄS extendible dining table on the KAUSTBY chair, eating a bacon sandwich)_

_Drake:_ And here we observe, the Milibae's brother with his brother's favourite porky snack.

_David:_ Mmmm! This looks so good! It's okay dear, I've been extra careful as to not let Ed and Cameron anywhere near you...

_(David bites into the sandwich and the contents all topple out onto the plate)_

_David:_ Oh no not again...

_Drake: (stifles a giggle)_

_David:_ Wait, who's that? Dra-!?

 

_Scene 6: The parking lot_

_Drake:_ And here we observe, the Bush- wait, where'd he go?

_George W. Bush: (snatches the camera and looks down the lense)_ Haha! This baby's going straight on YouTube!

* * *

Long story short, everyone thinks Donald and Boris have a thing for eachother now.

And in all honesty, they're not entirely wrong.

 


	4. Would You Like A Tour (To Toronto)?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And behold, the fourth chapter of this parody fic featuring Leonardo DiCaprio's inability to drive to the intended destination, Melania Trump's revenge to Donald and Drake and Rihanna's tabloid heist among others.

She tightened the ropes that bound her wrists to the drawers, tieing the ends to the crimson cord which kept him paralysed and unable to move. The vindictive figure maliciously grinned as she tightened the final knot around Donald's mouth. He tried to scream through the gag, but it was no use. He couldn't save Mike now.  
  
The woman stood up straight on her six inch heels which were black as soot, as dark as her intentions. She made her way to the huge couch that separated the television set from the King Sized bed and sat like she was the Queen of the United Kingdom.  
  
David Miliband made his way over the the petite lad who was resting patiently, cuddled up in the dreamy pillows of the king size bed, waiting for his 'Prime Minister' to come and make him happy. David sat on the side of the bed and seductively trailed his hands up Mike's legs, all the way up to his sparkly underwear, which David took little time in tracing down his thighs and past his ankles. He couldn't wait to see Mike writhe and moan again like she did on the last night of his virginity.  
  
“Oh Donald” sighed Melania “Your DNA really is the best in the gene pool. Shame that you had to share it with Mike”. Donald began battering the soles of his feet against the carpet.  
  
“There's not going back now, sweetie” David hummed, massaging his cold fingers through Mike's wet dick “mmm”.  
  
David slowly began to attentively suck on his lover's dick, locking his arms around his waist for added protection. The motions of his tongue were so passionate and precise, sending Mike into fits of pleasure and sheer indulgence. But he kept him moans to a minimum as so not to disturb his running mate who his kinky 'Prime Minister' had just tied up opposite the bed, and who he was desperately trying to forget so that his desire would not be savagely murdered.  
  
“A bit louder, hen” Melania instructed, while David breathed heavily against his swelling core “be a good boy for your Prime Minister”. Mike let out a deep, erotic moan as he fell into the warm embrace of orgasm, sending Donald into profound shock.

Donald tried to yell at Melania, frantically yanking against the ropes which bound him, but it was no use.  
  
“Can you tell The D-...your wee peasant friend to keep his mouth shut before I force him to perform cunnilingus on me?”. There was silence and Mike raised an eyebrow.  
  
“Whit? He's done it before”. David shot a judgemental glare over to Melania, severely questioning her hatred for her husband. Meanwhile, Melania slid off her lacy knickers, throwing them at Donald's face.  
  
“There we go, princess” David affirmed, unbuckling his pants “time for kisses”. And so they switched places, leaving Mike to pleasure David in front of his running mate.  
  
“Lift your hips and show The Donald what he's so kindly given to me, sweetheart” Melania bravely instructed. Mike obeyed, revealing to Donald his dick which were now coated in cum and David's saliva. Donald shivered.  
  
David began to taunt him with his loud moaning and constant references to his running mate's exceptional sexual performance. But as David lifted Mike up like a rag doll and pushed him to the bottom of the bed, snogging him with everlasting affection, Donald sneakily tried to untie the ropes which bound him.  
  
“I know what you're doing, Trump” David remarked as she broke the kiss, lathering Mike's dick with tingling lubricant, leading her to let out a cry of “Prime Ministeeeer”.  
  
“Don't worry, doll. I'll deal with him”.  
  
And so for the rest of the night, David rode on Mike, his gaze locked with Donald's. They must've gone for 5 or 6 rounds before David cared to stop, and it was evident that the euphoric wee lad was weak.  
  
David took his attention back to Mike, pushing some frizzy strands of his snow hair back behind his small ears. And with a few kisses and a lot of re-dressing, the couple were gone...

* * *

They held hands as they made their way out of the Toronto Sun's headquarters, sacks full of cash dangled over their shoulders. As they made their way to a parked car, they took a few moments to deeply stare into each others eyes. Drake wrapped his arms around Rihanna's hips and pulled her closer on the backseat of his Rover, sensually pecking at her lips.  
  
“You are so beautiful” she whispered, trembling at the sight.  
  
“So are you”. They pulled each other closer, their warmth defying the frosty breeze which spiralled the atmosphere.  
  
“You did so well today, kitten” Rihanna proclaimed, praising her ex who just sold incriminating footage of Donald Trump and Boris Johnson. Drake just smiled and hopped into Rihanna's grasp, letting her sink into her weary curves. Drake pushed her up against the numbing concrete wall and began whispering sweet nothings into her mouth.  
  
“Now, my only girl in the world” he breathed, forehead against forehead “you come and stay here in Canada. Trump will chase you thinking that you sold the footage, and the last thing I want is for you to have to go back there”  
  
“But Drake I-”  
  
“No buts, my love” muttered Drake “I'll be back in no time once I've found a new place for you to stay. But for now, look after my fiancée and cuddle her for me”  
  
“You said no buts”. They quietly chuckled.  
  
“Clever girl...”. He placed a heartfelt kiss upon Rihanna's  forehead and stationed her gently back onto her feet.  
  
“I love you, Robyn Rihanna _Fenty_ "  
  
“I love you too, Aubrey Drake _Graham_ ”

* * *

Prince Harry and Leonardo DiCaprio had stayed at Rihanna's stylish Miami beach house, cuddling up in the satin sheets. It had been a long day without Rihanna, but finally, the boys had found some peace. More specifically, they had found peace in each other.  
  
“Leonardoooo” Harry playfully whined in his ear.  
  
“What does His Royal Highness want at this hour?”  
  
“I need to deposit my crown jewels, Leonardooo”  
  
“Well then go to the p-. Ah, I see what you're doing here”. Leonardo chuckled to himself as Harry shifted his withered body around to face his.  
  
“What would Rihanna think about this behaviour, Leonardo?”  
  
“We share her, Harry. Why can't we share each other for a change?”  
  
“Is that what His Royal Highness desires?”  
  
“It is indeed”  
  
“Well then” he replied reaching in to his bedside drawer “let's begin”.

* * *

Melania marched down the street, victorious at what she just witnessed. Questions raced through her mind, blurring her subconscious. What on Earth had she just done? Like honestly, what the actual fuck?!  
  
She signalled to the taxi driver, who was just pulling up on the curb to drop off a client. She hopped in and buckled up.  
  
“The Trump Towers, please, darling”  
  
“O' course, love”  
  
“Thank you”. And they drove off.

* * *

Leonardo pounded himself into Harry's g-spot like a wrecking ball hitting a paper factory. His anus was in ruins. Harry gripped his hands against the sheets as they let out several cries in unison. The pleasure was emphatic, with tears of joy rolling down each others cheeks and into their locked lips, the couple were having the time of their lives. But it was short lived.  
  
The phone rang, alerting a paranoid Harry to the prospect of his darling wife having watched him have anal sex with her boyfriend this entire time. He ran to fetch it.  
  
“Hello?”  
  
“Harry?”  
  
“Rihanna” he sighed “Thank God. Are you alright?”  
  
“Of course I am, honey. And hey! I managed to get petitioned into Canada!”  
  
“Really? Oh my-” Harry paused, sweating and overjoyed “Are you coming down to get us?”  
  
“Not from what I've discovered” Rihanna muttered, rolling her eyes and peering over the top of the seats to glance at Justin Trudeau's bobbing head again. From where she was sat, it looked like he was jacking off himself. God forbid if fantasies of his dear Harry were involved! After all, people thought Justin and his Harry were an item.  
  
“He's with Obama, whom I can see at the front of the first class carriage”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“I think they're dating”. There was a pause.  
  
“I mean, love is love, Rihanna. At least we know that Obama won't hurt him”  
  
“Hell yeah, that's what I like to hear!”  
  
“Rihanna, don't be like this”  
  
“Be like what?”  
  
“Just because you may approve of it...”  
  
“I do!” she shrieked “Are you just...”  
  
“Just what?”  
  
“Look, Melania tied Trump up in the hotel room and this David Miliband bloke shagged Mike in front of him, okay? Do you not think I've seen enough of their behaviour to be able to judge that the United States is a mess now?”  
  
“I mean, that's not too bad”  
  
“Trump made the Americans refer to Farage as 'British Foreign Secretary'. I mean, who the hell does that, Harry?!?”  
  
“Okay, maybe you're right but what if-”  
  
“Harry this is no time for playing devil's advocate. Just get your arse up to Canada. You and Leonardo need to leave!”  
  
“Fine”. He slammed the phone down and let out a grand old sigh.  
  
“Leonardo!” Harry reluctantly and rather unenthusiastically cried “get your shoes on”  
  
“Why?”  
  
“We're going to the Great White North”

* * *

Trudeau sat at the front of the bus with her phone in hand, chatting to Obama, who was worried sick about him and their 'foreign relations'.  
  
“Sweet pea, it's okay. I've sent my UN Peacekeeping Forces back down to you. It's time to get some rest now” he gently instructed. Obama rolled over in his bed.  
  
“But it's so hard to get to sleep with you here beside me” he sniffled “you'd always help me get to sleep, honey”  
  
“Touch yourself, my dear” Justin soundly ordered “I'll be here to listen to you, precious”  
  
“Will you join in?”  
  
“Of course, baby”  
  
“Okay” he chuckled, lubricating his fingers.  
  
Justin reached in to his pocket and pulled out a remote for the vibrator in his boxers (which he keeps there in case he's in need of discreet relief). He switched it on to medium and put up his legs behind the seat in front of him, resting his head against the bus seat. Justin moaned quietly down the phone to Barack.  
  
“You better be putting your pretty little fingers into your boxers, young man”

“Y-yes. Of course, baby”  
  
“How does that feel, sweetheart? Feeling any better?”  
  
“S-so good” whined he as his fingers circled her pulsating cock “I miss you so much. I wish you were here to do this”  
  
“I miss you too” Justin replied, copying Barack's movements with her fingers on the top of his trousers “You beautiful lad”. A tear fell down his cheek. He knew what was coming next and he couldn't stop the pain. How did he know about this? Well...  
  
...he read it in Rihanna's visa application cover letter.

* * *

Harry and Leonardo rushed over to the US-Canadian border while they are trying to blend in with the crowd of the said place.  
  
“Where the fuck are we?” Harry cried as he clung to Leonardo (who is behind the wheel of their Rolls Royce) to keep him in a hug.  
  
“I don't know but I'm pretty sure we're getting closer to Canada"  
  
“Not again” he sighed “We don't want another repeat of last time”. In the last few hours, Leonardo took a couple of wrong turns which resulted to them ending up in the Duggar compound, a ghost town and a Six Flags among other places.  
  
“No, we are totally in the right direction, Harry!” Leonardo laughed “We're going to find out where Toronto is so that we can finally be free.”  
  
“Phew!”. There was a collective sigh among the two of them. And in that moment Harry's phone buzzed.  
  
“Ah, Ontario Highway 401, bro” he winked “time to reunite with our queen”.

* * *

The Border Guards swayed back and forth over the eerie cobbles of the checkpoint, glancing up at the gloomy grey skies as the rain began to spit at them. They were obviously taking there time when it came to letting people go through. Scared maybe?  
  
Moments later one of them could hear American and British voices bickering from behind him about who should go first.  
  
“Harry, it's your wife!” Leonardo cried, struggling to hold on to the sides of the entrance as Harry kept heaving into him.  
  
“I'm an immigrant, Leo! I'll be a goner!”  
  
“Well you're the Prince of Wales too so” Leonardo grabbed him and through him across the cobbles “go!”.  
  
Harry barely landed on his feet. He stumbled up to the border guard until they were roughly two metres apart. Leonardo came to join him after some harsh persuading from an immigrant who was already pissed at the two for holding up the line. The Border Guard turned around to face them.  
  
“Nice place, America” he nodded, making he way over to greet them “Doesn't usually deal with pricks like yoos though”. Leonardo face twisted in disgust.  
  
“Now, lads” he hissed, straightening he shoulders, readying his stance, cracking his knuckles and his tongue in cheek “Your chances of remaining in the United States are as slim as the Democrats coming back into power”. Harry chuckled, pleased with himself as a seething Leonardo hurled himself towards him in defence of Rihanna's husband. The Border Guard put him in a headlock.  
  
“You...filthy...bitch” he spat, struggling and desperate to get out of his grasp.  
  
“What was 'hat, _bad hombre_?” she taunted “Filthy bitch better have my money? Och, aim naw yer _marido_ noo aim I?”. Leonardo turned his head to Harry.  
  
“What does that even mean?”. Before Harry could answer, the Border Guard threw Leonardo onto the ground and pinned him there, in a daze, with his leather boots. Another immigrant emerged from the entrance, ready to attack the Border Guard at any given opportunity. Swiftly, Harry tried to push her over but was met by an almighty head-but, knocking him straight to the floor alongside his fellow partner.  
  
“Immigrants, eh?” The Border Guard snickered as he stared wickedly into that poor immigrant's eyes. She took a few steps towards the merciless man and folded her arms.  
  
“What have you done with these men, officer?”  
  
“Are you their daughter?” He snickered “Isnae et plain tae see?!”  
  
“What have you done with us, Officer Harper?” Harry asked, rigidly as he stood up, "For your information, I am the Prince of Wales, the man with me is Leonardo DiCaprio."  
  
"Aren't you that Oscarless man?" Someone shouted from the back of the line  
  
"Shut it scumbag!" Leonardo shouted back as he got up, "I fucking got my first Oscar earlier this year!"  
  
"So I was saying, Leonardo and I are here to legally cross to Canada." Harry explained, "Look, we even have our documents with us!"  
  
“This is the US-Mexico Border”.

 

Leonardo's old eyes met with the Border Guard's. The Border Guard's devilish eyes met with Leonardo. And with the car started, Leonardo and Harry drove off on their Rolls Royce - hoping that this time, they'll actually end up where they intend to be.

* * *

Melania lay quietly on the sofa, running his hands through Baron's silky hair. Their embrace was ever so strong, yet ever so tender. Baron shuffled his head closer in.

“Mom”  
  
“Yes, sweetheart?” Melania replied.  
  
“I love you”  
  
“I love you too, Baron”. Gosh, it was so much easier to breathe with Baron curled up by his side.  
  
“Mom” he asked again.  
  
“Yes sweetheart?”  
  
“Why are you so protective of me?”  
  
“Because I don't want your father to hurt you, sweetie pie” Melania replied, still half asleep. She reached for the lamp behind her and switched it on in a last ditch attempt to wake herself up.  
  
“Why would anyone hurt me?” Baron questioned, confident that he could live without a guardian angel.  
  
“Because...”  
  
“Because what?”  
  
“Because..there are some people out there who want to take advantage of you”  
  
“Like who?”  
  
“That is none of your concern” she reassured her “Now you go to sleep. You need it. God knows what your father has done to the United States all night”. They both giggled to each other rather loudly, but it was good to have a bit of time to make a joke. Well, at least that's what Leanne thought it was anyway!  
  
“Mum”  
  
“Sweetheart” Melania whined “You're not 4! You don't need to keep asking me these questions!”  
  
“Why do you hate Dad so much?”. Leanne sighed.  
  
“Because your dad used to love me but Nigel Farage savagely tore apart our bond. Also, whilst they were each other sexual partners your dad was also fucking the Vice President, never mind the British Foreign Secretary!”  
  
“So he pretty much cheated on three people at once”  
  
“Yeah” Melania sighed “and one out of those three have left him, being able to see what he gets up to in his free time”  
  
“Oh dear...” he trailed, biting his lip momentarily “Does Dad know that you and this man named Anthony James Perez are...together?”  
  
“No, but he'll no doubt find out soon..”. Melania sat up on the couch, readjusting Baron's resting body once more and bringing him in to cuddle.  
  
“But don't you ever leave” she continued “Not once. Not ever. Anthony James may not be your biological father, but he sure feels like it on days like this”. Baron snuggled in closer, leaving a kiss on the side of her face.  
  
And so they laid there until the Sun rose up above the oceans and into the blue sky, and then it all started again...

* * *

 

Meanwhile in Canada, Drake smoked tons of weed as he started counting the money that the Toronto Sun paid him (and Rihanna) for selling those incriminating footage of Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and some Republicans and this man that Trump calls the "British Foreign Minister" (when really, the actual foreign minister was his brother, Boris, not that lizard-faced man).

Drake couldn't believe that he finally managed to petition his ex into Canada. All he had to do was just launch a record label of his own and pass Rihanna off as a foreign employee of his that he has to hire after proving that no Canadian was willing to work for him - well, he did have Canadian applicants but most of them only showed up to the job interviews so they could have selfies with him, but they actually had no interest in working for him after they were told that the job may entail listening to Nickleback demos.

Besides, who on earth wants to listen to Nickleback demos these days?


	5. Back To Square One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now, this one is a parody of a George Osborne/Christine Lagarde fic from [here](http://lolitics-meme.livejournal.com/6006.html?thread=12631158#t12631158). The Anthony James Perez that Melania starts seeing (mentioned in the previous chapter) is further introduced here.

When Baron had asked Melania about the man she has been seeing, she could not help but replay the memory of the night that she and that man spent together. It was a week ago and Melania had just discovered that her husband had replaced her with three men (who from what she understood, were only to keep a professional relationship with him but it appeared that the relationships have gone beyond professional). 

 

She was at a New York pub that night, trying to drown her misery with tequila when she met this comic book artist named Anthony James Perez who came to the United States to promote his comic book series called _Patron_. She was glad that they shared the same values and that mattered a lot to her ever since she turned Conservative (or rather, a faux Conservative, because that's what her soon-to-be ex husband is). From what she learned, he was from a country called the Philippines ("I thought you were Mexican? Your surname sounds Spanish" "No, Spain once colonized us. That's why our surnames are close to those of the Mexicans"). One drink after another led them to that moment...

 

He arrived promptly and Melania makes him stand in the centre of the room. She positions his hands clasped behind his head.  
She walks around him, the lighting of her room giving her a better chance to scrutinize him than the dimly lit quarters in the basements. She takes her time and he starts to breathe a little more rapidly. His nervousness endears him to Melania.

She kicks his legs apart and then she untucks his shirt. Her hands slide under the starched fabric to touch his skin, the soft pudge of his stomach, around his waistband, his chest. She presses her face against his cheek. There is a soft trace of aftershave and the barely there scratch of stubble.

“What is your name?” Melania whispers and she starts to unbutton his shirt. Her eyes study his face.

“Anthony James.” he replies, his breath catching. Melania feels her hunger begin to rise. Their first kiss is gentle, just her touching her lips to his, rubbing against them, licking softly at his mouth, nudging at him, tasting him for the first time, exploratory, delicious. He tastes sweet, of chocolate.

The kiss deepens as he opens his mouth to her. Melania grabs his hands at the back of his head, pulling him to her, biting and sucking at his mouth. He moans, beautiful and desperate. The sound resonates straight to Melania's core. She releases him and walks away.

“I’ve had a long trip and need to bathe. You will wash me.” She tells Anthony James. “Finish undressing.”

Melania draws the water for her bath as hot as she can stand. Steam covers the mirror. She slides into the water and arranges herself in the bath so that the water curves gently around the underside of her breasts.

When she turns the faucets off, Anthony James joins her within minutes. He smoothly sinks onto his knees by tub, his pretty eyes fixed on ceramic tiles.

She hands him the soap and washcloth. “Scrub my back.”

He flows into action, silent. His motions are confident, a sign of having multiple partners before her of perhaps just from being in her service. She smiles and can imagine Anthony James draped across cushions or over her golden desk, greedy hands in his hair.

 

His thumbs find a knot between her shoulder-blades; she sighs and closes her eyes. His hands massage the tension away. There has to be a way to spirit him away from this drab existence.

“Your place is in my bed, not with the starlets in your country,” she says with jubilant severity. His hands stop. She glances over her shoulder and Anthony James looks scared. “You can speak freely with me.” Melania encourages but Anthony James does not take the opportunity.

“My bath is cold,” she huffs. “Towels, boy.”

Anthony James dries her shoulders, then each arm in turn: careful motions, full of unexpected timidity. The deep flush that rises on his cheeks as he kneels to dry her legs amuses her. She spoils herself by playing with his hair. She is surprised when he responds by rubbing his head against her hand, like a pet. He catches himself, starts and begins to pull away, but she whispers, “Stay.”

“Donald would hunt you and punish you for taking what is his. I would not want you to face his wrath on my account.”

She is touched by his concern. For a long minute they are frozen together, her hand against his flushed cheek.

“Never mind the towels,” she tells him. “On the bed. On your back.”

When he’s spread out on his back, she coats her hand with cool, slick lube. He is pleasingly erect, and she runs her oiled palms over him with proprietary efficiency, her eyes fastened intently on his face. At the first touch his mouth falls open and he gives a loud gasp, eyes wide and full of wonder.

“Like this?” she purrs, continuing to stroke up and down, the lube warming against his skin.

“Yes”

He is eager and it suits her that he has arrived in her bed greedy for touch. She plays with him, and can no longer ignore an ache of desire that wells up from her own depth in response to Anthony James' thrusts and moans. Within minutes, he is hers.

Afterwards, Melania strokes his face and brings his head to lay in her lap, and runs her fingers through his hair. She wants to whisper sweet things to Anthony James, promises of tenderness and protection, descriptions of how beautiful he is. But she remains quiet and pets him softly.

 

When the sun rose the next morning, that was when she decided that it was time to file those divorce papers. But not before serving revenge on her husband on that hotel room at The Plaza.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you are all curious about this Anthony James Perez guy, check out [here's this article](http://www.ignitumtoday.com/2014/10/09/patron-comics/) and [this article](http://www.andthesethygifts.com/2015/08/22/introducing-patron-comics/).


	6. A Letter for Baron

Dear Baron,

Your uncle, Boris is a Man, just like your father—just like The Donald, and therefore, he knows what is best for you, young man there’s no need to feel down.  I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground.

Well, let’s just put it this way: okay he “looks at your father weird” but there’s no need to say he’s leering, what does that word even mean? And he just admires your father as a man, slowly blooming, blossoming into a Real Man.

Baron, you’re not yet 18 and still incapable of making your own decisions. You haven’t even had a visit from the man who promised you a small loan of a million dollars since he went off to meet up with the  _ actual  _ British Foreign Minister also known as your uncle (sorry to break it to you kid, but The Donald’s pal, Nigel, ain’t the British Foreign Minister)!

Oh? You have? Because Mr. Pence and I were getting kind of worried but that was a year or two back and I just forgot to ask you about whether or not you had  _ gotten  _ **_it_ ** _ yet _ . Get it?

As I was saying to your father, “Submit to the Republican Party caucus”. Even if the caucus doesn’t love him back yet, I told him to ask himself:: Can you even make any rational decision when you have…. *lowering my voice now* no political experience?

What does he mean that  **EVERYONE** has political experience? I’m The Veteran Politician here!  _ Hello? _ The Conservatives have Thatcher and Cameron, and only Labour has Jeremy Corbyn. What in yankee-doodle doo do they teach you in school? You never had Voter’s Education? How Dreadful!

Well, don’t you watch  [ those PMQs footage where the Prime Minister accuses the Leader of the Opposition of forgetting how to do up his tie and  ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsA_OrCGmoI) [sing the national anthem](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UsA_OrCGmoI) all because his little red friends are in town? Do you know what causes this sudden loss of national budget and gain on immigration control? Conservatives. It’s science: 9/10 political forecasts will tell you that.

##  **As I mentioned earlier, listen to the Milibae (no, not my brother - but me!)**

Take your uncle in the House of Commons.

He may not be as handsome or strapping as he used to be. But he’s still the same fair-skinned mop head who wants to uphold the results of the Brexit Referendum.

> _ The Brexit is Brexit _
> 
> _ More Freedom is good for Country… _
> 
> _ Please, Vote Leave. _

Your uncle, Boris, wrote that. Was it not the most beautiful haiku? (Honestly, no, it sucks!)

Mike, is that you? How long were you standing there? Did you hear what I said? Sweetie, laugh all you want, it really was a horrible haiku but—you put that banana down, young man! Don’t you run away—

Anyway, he’ll be back. It’s Question Time in an hour and you know that it has been impossible for your Uncle Boris to wean me off Europe’s  **Overflowing Benefits** . He was the same when you were just a wee lad. Now that you’re a young man, let me share with you The Most Beautiful Haiku by The Milibae in the House of Commons:

> _Labour is best_

> _argument against Privatization_

> _Laws because they are*_

You’re right there, Baron! I did have a majority… _A Majority of Sheer Genius!_ The 5-7-5 syllables per verse pattern stuck out like flowers in a field of grass.

Your Father claims to be a Pro-life Warrior! He stands for the rights of men, children, women, babies, foetuses, ovaries, penises, cells, mitochondria—I’d go as far as to say he stands for the rights of rights in general! He thinks knows what is best for you and your body! Oh! And about [that thing that he was accused of doing back in 2008](http://www.newyorker.com/news/john-cassidy/trump-university-its-worse-than-you-think), he said he was sorry! So just let sleeping dogs lie!

With a heavy heart,  
  
**Mr. David Miliband**  
**Former Democratic Party intern, currently dating Mr. Pence (whom I understand, was someone your father used to have an affair with)**

* * *

 

When Baron had finished reading the letter that his mother handed to him, he was reduced to tears. He could not believe that of all people, this Mr. David Miliband that the Vice President has probably started seeing, had to be the one to break it to him that his father does have an affair with a man that turned out to be his own brother. Most of all, he could not believe that this Mr. David Miliband wasted his time to introduce him to British politics.

It was not the only thing that the postman had delivered to the Trump Residence at the Trump Towers - Melania, meanwhile, received a large envelope from a man named A. Graham from Canada. When she opened it up, she found that day's issue of the Toronto Sun featuring a scandal that her husband (well, soon to be ex-husband) got into on the headlines.

_Video Footage given to the Toronto Sun showed US President Donald Trump getting it on with British Foreign Secretary Boris Johnson, whom, from what we understood on the footage, turned out to be his biological brother. Going further, the same video footage has Mr. Trump admit that his Slovenian supermodel wife Melania was the one who told him of his relation with Mr. Johnson through a DNA Test Result...._

_...As of press time, Mrs. Trump has not yet responded to our calls._

"So that was why my phone kept ringing since this morning?" Melania thought aloud. She had no idea that this revelation she made to Donald would be divulged this far. The DNA Test Results only happened to be conveniently there for her to utilize. It all started when one of Donald's staffers joked that he might be related to Boris Johnson. Wanting to prove them wrong, he challenged the British Foreign Secretary to a DNA Test. A challenge that Boris gladly accepted...

...except that it ended up with Donald forgetting about the DNA Test results and Melania having to be the one to claim them on his behalf. That's how Melania broke it out to Donald after they had sex that he was Boris Johnson's brother.

Melania decided to call the unknown number that had been calling her since the morning back - hoping that she had made the right decision to make that call.

"Yes, this is Melania Trump." she spoke, "I would like to say that I am saddened by the events that have transpired. Baron and I are staying strong for Donald and I hope we will get through this."

But in reality, neither she nor Baron were going to stay around to forgive Donald. For one thing, after that night where she made Donald watch Mike Pence and David Miliband make love, she had stolen Trump's credit cards. In a span of three days, she has sold half of his assets. In the next 72 hours, the divorce papers will be finalized.

The money she has taken? She will use to buy herself and Baron a property in a currently unknown place. Some of the money, she'd donate to her comic book artist beau.

Melania Trump was a force to be reckoned with. 

She may just be America's most dangerous woman.


	7. Argument Boots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ted Cruz takes Donald Trump to a crackhouse

Maybe it’s an innate Republican ability to attract people they really shouldn’t, but whether it’s after the Presidential debates, the right to appeal caucus discussion (‘even when you agree with me you criticise me’ Ted tuts, pushing Donald to his knees, ‘whatever am I going to do with you?’), or the usual equalities debates that very few people ever even take an interest in, Ted summons Donald to the office, or his Washington, D.C. flat (once to a real crackhouse), and Donald cannot resist.

Maybe it’s Ted's comparative age and experience, maybe it’s the Texas Republican thing, maybe it’s just Ted's fierce argument boots, but Donald would never challenge her for dominance. He's happy on her knees in front him, and, honestly, a bit in awe of him and how he’s stuck with the Republicans even though there's so much establishment politicians there (he ignores the fact that the Democratic Party has just as bad a track record).

Ted bears a striking resemblance to the Zodiac Killer, the one that killed people in Northern California during the 1960s. Ted is sharp and effortlessly commanding, with those piercing brown eyes (and shoulder pads) that both terrify and tempt. He was born for the Republican party and Donald is almost jealous.

That doesn’t change the fact that Donald hates him, and everything he stands for, and no self-respecting man would possibly ally themselves with some of the evil little bastards from the establishment. No matter how many times Ted ties his hands with silk scarves, pulls his hair and blindfolds him, he’s still going to oppose everything they ever do, whether he has an alternative plan or not.

Ted takes liberties though, and Donald isn’t sure if they’re not playing chicken sometimes. He stands, naked, in the crackhouse, while Ted circles him, examining skin and whip marks, and bruising, occasionally tracing a hand over his skin or pinching a tender spot, hoping to make Donald whimper (which he does, unfortunately).

Ted hands tangle in Donald's hair, pulling harshly. Donald doesn’t need to look to know Ted's eyes are closed, in ecstasy and disgust, because Donald still looks so much younger than him (or that's what he thinks), and those schoolboy eyes can be depraved and so challenging Ted just wants to pin him and bite.

Donald sucks and kisses Ted, and loves the way he can remain quiet, how fucking dignified and perfect, even with his trousers around his ankles and his jacket half pushed off her shoulders. Donald tongue moves faster, eager to please. Ted comes with an emphatic 'dios mio’, pushing Donald away as the feeling gets too intense, but Donald doesn’t get up.

Ted refastens his clothing, and almost forgets that Donald's hands are tied. Donald waits, knelt on the floor, wondering why he put up with this. Anyone else in the world would _not_ get away with this. He unties Donald's hands, and pauses, stroking Donald's dishevelled toupee like he’s an animal or suede cushion cover.

“You can get up now, sweetheart,” Ted smirks at the sight of the red marks still on Donald wrists from a previous engagement. “You’re going to go away and rethink what your policy on immigration actually is, so we can engage in a proper debate about it, and you don’t just deliberately misunderstand my policy, yes?”

Donald pulls his pants on, runs a hand through his toupee and hopes he doesn’t look too much like he’s just given head to the Senator of Texas. There’s a ladder in his tights, which is annoying.

“I’ll see you on Monday for the debate,” Donald says, crisply. He refuses to have _policy_ dictated for her by Ted, but that’s his one (only) proviso in this fucked up scenario.

“Well actually, I’ve got a new crowbar that I’d like to try out.” Ted grins in anticipation as he swung the crowbar, aiming it to Donald's head before finally hitting him

  
“Look forward to it,” Donald answers honestly as he passed out from the impact of the crowbar that Ted just used on him.

 

"Melania, he's down." Ted said over the phone

 

"Good, send him and his brother down to that Nickleback concert you told me about." The voice from the other line, belonging to Melania spoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [parodied from this fanfic](http://lolitics-meme.livejournal.com/8078.html?thread=15237006#t15237006)


	8. God Save The Prime Minister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Elizabeth II barges into 10 Downing Street after the British Foreign Minister goes missing while looking for Prince Harry.

“ **DO YOU EVEN KNOW HOW WORRIED I AM ABOUT HIM?!** ” bellowed Queen Elizabeth II as she slammed the 10 Downing Street front door behind her with the force of a speeding freight train. Theresa May let out a little whimper as her shaken body tried to desperately scale the pale walls - but it was no use. Theresa couldn't escape now.

“ **DID YOU EVEN** **LOOK EVERYWHERE FOR MY GRANDSON?** ” she yelled, the tears of rage prickling at her eyes, “ **YOU COULD'VE AT LEAST TOLD ME RIGHT AWAY THAT YOUR FOREIGN MINISTER WENT MISSING** ”. Theresa fell to the carpet, rattled to the core. Her eyes cried oceans but her face didn't say a single thing at all. Not a movement. Not a sound. The vibrancy of her eyes had vanished and all that was left was the broken echoes of the past, scratching and scraping against her soul, tearing at her like nails on a chalkboard. And yet she couldn't feel a thing.

“Prime Minister” Prince Philip calmly asked, “what exactly happened with your foreign minister and my grandson?”. The room fell silent. The words were surfacing at the tip of her tongue but her mouth refused to speak them. _To utter them_.

“We're not going to get mad at you” Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall stated, crouching at her side and placing a reassuring hand on her thigh, “we just need to know where they've been”

“Prince Harry, he is with this pop star named Rihanna and this guy who played Jack in Titanic. Boris, I heard he's had an affair with the US President,” she answered, returning with the accent of a small, emotionally broken, rich, southern English child, “now please, I beg you, go”

“No” Queen Elizabeth II ferociously spat, “Never again”. She forcefully thrust her handbag against the wall and marched into the kitchen.

“This is our house now, Prime Minister.”

“Your Majesty, please”

“ **You have no choice** ”. The bitter words began to burn through Theresa's chest. They had left a flesh wound seemingly as quick as they'd came.

“Your Majesty...”

“What?” she acrimoniously scathed. In all honesty, she didn't really want to hear another word of what she had to say until she'd cooled down - but the cool off was going have to wait.

“The Foreign Minister just got arrested for smuggling crack into Canada with the US President”.

* * *

A day had passed and Donald and Boris were now bundled into a Canadian prison, ready to be deported back to the United States

“Got someone who can bail us out?” Boris asked, patting herself down for good measure.

“Yep” beamed Donald.

“Good” Boris nodded, clambering into the double deck bed, “call them up then”

“Boris,” quizzed Donald, “how exactly did we end up in that Nickleback concert in Toronto with a lot of crack?”

“It's a long story”

“Well, we have like 10 hours until someone could bail us out”

“Okay, fine” he sighed in defeat, “It all started a day ago when Ted Cruz revealed that he was the Zodiac Killer which is coincidentally, what happened to you..."

* * *

_Ted leant against the living room door frame, dress only in boxers and his argument boots which he then took the courtesy of kicking off. He'd just won another 'American Politician of the Year' award and so was firmly set on his high horse for the rest evening. Well, that would be so if Donald Trump, his rival, hadn't told him that he was blowing up Canada - Ted's home and native land._

_Ted ran a frustrated hand through his hair as Boris exited the bathroom, robed only in a white towel. He must've just had a bath._

“ _Hey Mr. Foreign Minister” he whispered as he wrapped his arms around his waist from behind him._

“ _Hi Senator” he replied, pecking him on the cheek in adoration,”how are you feeling?”_

“ _Better than yesterday, that's for sure!”. Boris chuckled but stopped as he recognised the frustration hidden in Ted's face._

“ _You?”. Ted heavily sighed._

“ _My twin brother may be hunting Prince Harry down”_

“ _What?”_

“ _He's blowing up Canada”. There was a pause._

“ _Why?”_

“ _He says it'll help Make America Great Again, blowing up the Great White North with a shit tonne of nukes and that”_

“ _Oh, okay”_

“ _I can't have him blowing up my birth country!”_

“ _It's okay, I can easily stay hidden”_

“ _I can't have you interfere”. Ted gazed at him in a way he'd never witnessed before. It was almost like Boris was some sort of his next victim..._

“ _So, what can we do then?” Boris questioned, typically unfazed by the prospect of Donald Trump finding him again._

“ _Never thought you'd ask”. Ted pulled out a plastic tube which bore the resemblance to a telescope from this huge bag he was bringing, but instead of how normal telescopes looked like, it was a glowing tube, so really the 'item' looked more like a half telescope, half glowing tube. Ted adjusted himself against the door frame to face him._

“ _My team have been working on this for a long time,” he told him with a smirk, “you've basically got to hit this on your opponent - you know, like in Star Wars”_

“ _Oh God”_

“ _Think about it this way: If Trump found you settled down with me, the Zodiac Killer, would he find it in himself to intervene? No, he wouldn't. So, unless you want to live through incest for the rest of your life, I suggest you comply”_

“ _Fine” Boris conceded, as he was about to take the device, Ted swung it and used it to hit him into unconsciousness, “okay...”_

* * *

An hour later, a message popped up on Theresa's smartphone. It was from Boris.

_Where are you, Donald?_

But before she could reply and tell her Foreign Minister that he has texted the wrong number, Queen Elizabeth II snatched the phone from her grip. The Queen snickered, but not mockingly, it was more... _furious_ than that. She violently slammed her fingers against the screen, composing a long message full of nasty words and phrases she could use to piss Boris off. All this anger that had boiled up in her from the past 20 or so years was now being channelled through her skin and onto the machine. In that moment, The Queen was rage itself.

* * *

_HOW DARE YOU_

 

The message read.

 

 _HOW DARE YOU HAVE THE AUDACITY TO EVEN CONTACT MY PRIME MINISTER WITH SUCH A QUERY. I HOPE YOU ROT IN HELL, YOU STUBBY COW. YOU COULDN'T FIND MY GRANDSON JUST BECAUSE YOU'D RATHER MAKE LOVE TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE UNITED STATES. I TRUSTED YOU AND THEN YOU SO COWARDLY KEPT HIM AWAY FROM ME. I THOUGHT WE WERE FRIENDS, BORIS. I REALLY DID. AND NOW HE'S RUN OFF WITH A POP STAR AND THE LEADING MAN OF TITANIC! DO YOU EVEN KNOW WHAT THIS MEANS?! I HOPE YOU'RE THE FIRST TO KICK THE BUCKET OUT OF THE PAIR OF US, YOUNG LAD, OR SHOULD I SAY 'SLUT' – BECAUSE THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE!!!!!_  

“Jings,” Drake remarked as he peered down at Boris' phone, “The Queen really does have some rage bottled up inside her, the wee witch”. Rihanna snickered. They high-fived each other as the IP tracker began working its magic on the British Foreign Minister's phone. Because The Queen sent that message through Theresa's phone, Drake and Rihanna could track the message back to the Prime Minister of the UK and essentially find more juicy information to sell to the Toronto Star after all this time!

“Bingo” muttered Rihanna as she reached for her coat, “10 Downing Street. Bet the Queen broke into the PM's residence, huh? She'll probably end up kicking the Prime Minister out to a hotel or some place. And tell me if she does! I need to know where she is, but don't tell Harry about this, okay?”

“Will do” Drake nodded, briefly sipping at his scalding double double, “seeya later”

“Seeya”. And with a peck on the forehead and a slam of the door, he was gone.

 


End file.
